Odes to Our Esteemed Captain and His Most Divine Leftenant
by Dr. Holland
Summary: My first attempt at writing Sleepy Hollow fanfiction, just in time for Sleepy Holloween Week 2014! All Ichabbie, all the time. Flashbacks, tender moments, and compromising situations, wrapped in maudlin songs and sappy lavender prose for your reading pleasure. Various and sundry plots, settings, and characters. Rated T/M.
1. Just a Dream

**Odes to Our Esteemed Captain and His Most Divine Leftenant**

**Summary:** My first attempt at Sleepy Hollow fanfiction, just in time for Sleepy Holloween Week 2014! All Ichabbie, all the time. Flashbacks, tender moments, and compromising situations, wrapped in maudlin songs and sappy lavender prose for your reading pleasure. Various and sundry plots, settings, and characters. Rated T/M.

**Disclaimer:** Nothing here belongs to me, although I'd quit my job for the opportunity to join the Sleepywriters. (Not really. Depends on the pay. And what my husband says, which would likely be "Have you taken leave of your sense?") Veteran of many fandoms, but this is my first Sleepyfic, so be nice to me.

**Rating: **T

**Day 1: Just a Dream**

(Prompt: Family)

The only part of his daughter's face that unmistakably belonged to her mother was Lucy's big brown doe eyes.

The rest of Lucy Abigail Crane was a blend of them both, from her golden skin to her bronze corkscrew curls to her full petulant lips. At seven, she was the center of Ichabod's existence, the reason why he never wanted to teach more than a course or two at a time at the local university. The rest of it he spent at home in the cabin they shared, watching over his precious girl while writing yet another book in his bestselling Real History series.

It was easiest this way, and their lives had fallen into a comfortable rhythm once Lucy started school. Ichabod was the parent who did the school visits, who was the one on call to pick Lucy up in the afternoons, and who sat with her in front of the fireplace during the evenings when Abbie was working and away from them both.

The only thing he hadn't yet been able to get their daughter to do was fall asleep when Abbie was not yet home. It was as if she'd picked up her father's habit of watchfulness, playing quietly in the glow of the hearthfire, small ears that were the perfect blend of Ichabod-and-Abbie perking up any time she heard a sound that even slightly resembled the traction of tires.

But Lucy wasn't listening just then. Just then, she'd asked her father a question, and Ichabod wasn't quite sure how to answer.

"Why do you have such a funny name, Daddy?"

Ichabod had grown pretty inured to the people of this time incessantly making fun of his name. Why, Ichabod was a perfectly reasonable name, compared to some of the _inanity_ that modern people called _their _children. After all, Blue was a color, and Apple was a _fruit, _for heaven's sake.

"It's a name from the Bible, love," he explained patiently, settling his daughter on his knee and marveling at how _big_ his moppet was getting. Wasn't she just in swaddling clothes (or whatever Abbie called the contraptions - onesies or twosies or some other frippery) just a few months before?

Lucy shook her head, bouncing her curls about her shoulders. "But my friend said your name isn't even a _word_." Frown. "Why did your mother and father name you that?"

"During the time when I was born, my dear, many people named their children using the Bible. Often, that Bible was the only book they had in the home." _Although that wasn't exactly the case for the aristocratic Cranes, _Ichabod thought but did not say.

"Wow, they didn't have computers or cell phones back then, did they?"

"No, they did not," was his reply, the corners of his mouth turning up with amusement.

"Well, Mommy was born back then too, and her name is pretty."

_Everything about your mother is "pretty," _thought Ichabod. _Perfection, actually… and although you're a blend of us both, I daresay that will be true of you when you are a woman grown. I shall have to keep my shotgun at the ready to fend off unworthy youthful swains…_

_That is, if Abbie is reasonable and lets me do what a proper father must when it comes to potential suitors. Alas, I am certain my beloved wife will likely stay my hand in this matter._

He missed Abbie for the hundredth time that day. Then he looked down at Lucy's eyes, and his heart warmed.

"Your mother did not have the misfortune of being born in my ill-begotten time," smiled Ichabod. "I am much her elder."

"Just like me," said Lucy, her voice showing her wonder. "I'm going to be a big sister, you know."

Ichabod's arms closed around his little daughter as he held her close. "Yes, love, I know. You will be in… about five months now."

They had decided to wait a while to tell Lucy about the new little sibling that would soon be added to their family. But their girl had been the first person they'd told, before Jenny or Irving or any of their other family and friends. For a few months, though, the knowledge of the baby was theirs… and theirs alone.

They'd hold each other at night, Ichabod's caressing hand on Abbie's softly rounded middle, looking into each other's eyes…

_You have the most comely eyes, my divine Abigail, _he would breathe after a while, in awe of the dark angel he had to cross time and space to meet. Meeting Abbie, intertwining his fate with hers, and joining their lives together had completed his very soul.

_Nah. I kinda hope he has eyes like yours, _Abbie would whisper back.

_I would have you know there is nothing especial about my eyes, madam, _he teased.

_See, you always say that, but I disagree. I love your eyes. They're eyes you can swim in. Eyes you can drown in. Eyes that can bring me back to life with just once glance. So yes… I want him to have his father's eyes._

Looking down at their daughter cradled against his chest, Ichabod begged to differ with her. For what other color was there for eyes than the warmest of brown?

Lucy closed those brown eyes with a smile.

"I love you, Daddy."

"And I adore you, my Lucy," came his reply, as he closed his eyes too. Neither of them would fall asleep until Abbie's arrival, of course, but it would be nice to just _rest_… just for a moment…

**~sleepy~sleepy~sleepy~**

"Crane?"

Ichabod opened his eyes. The warmth of the fireplace had been replaced by cooling ashes, and he cursed himself for not banking it before drifting off.

But where had Lucy gone? She wasn't on his lap any longer, and there was no sign of her down on the hearthrug. Ichabod blinked in confusion.

"Hey." Abbie came around to the back of Ichabod's chair to squeeze his shoulder. "Everything all right?"

He was going to confess that he was completely disoriented. _Had_ she carried their daughter to bed, despite his admonishments about her condition?

"Ichabod, what's going on?"

He didn't reply. In a single swift motion, he pulled her down to sit on his lap, and covered his mouth with hers. Abbie seemed surprised at first, but her lips immediately melted beneath his, and parted to grant his seeking tongue access. Her hands clutched his collar, and he only broke their kiss long enough to press lips against her nose.

"What's this all about?"

"You had no need to carry our daughter to bed, darling. You only had need of arousing me to wakefulness."

Her response was to tongue the pulse at the base of his exposed neck. "Well, I think we've established over the past two months how much I enjoy _arousing _you awake, Crane… but what daughter are you talking about?" She drew back with a frown. "Those Sidhe demons haven't returned here again, have they?"

Head shake. "Of course not. I suppose I was dreaming, that's all."

Ichabod felt a rush of shame as their current situation came back to him. While his partner, fellow Witness, and dearest love had been at the police station, retrieving a report about the latest apocalyptic activity in Sleepy Hollow, Ichabod was supposed to have been conducting research on the legendary Sidhe, fairies that had fallen to evil and were now working with Moloch, the Horsemen, and his own son to bring about the End of Days.

And yet, Ichabod had fallen asleep on the job. _So much for pulling my weight on this team…_

His embarrassed thoughts were interrupted by the return of Abbie's lips as she opened his shirt with newly experienced fingers, pressing slow kisses from his Adam's apple to his navel.

"What's all this, _Leftenant_?" he teased. "Do you mean to say that you're actually _rewarding_ me for falling asleep at the switch?"

Abbie looked up at him with a naughty expression on her lovely face.

"I am rewarding you, Crane, for dreaming about our future." One hand came up to stroke the side of his face as he ran his fingers through her hair. "I love that you dream about a future with me."

"Indeed. For I came to this future for only one reason, Grace Abigail Mills… to find you."

"But you left so much behind," she breathed, perhaps for the thousandth time. "Everything and everyone you knew. Your friends. Your home. Your _family."_

Ichabod's answer was not in words, but that night, he made sure that Abbie had her answer.

_You are my best friend._

_You are my home. _

_You are my _family.

_**~the end~**_

**A/N: **First-ever completed Sleepy Hollow fic. HAPPY SLEEPY HOLLOWEEN WEEK!

**-Dr. Holland **


	2. Just a Memory

**Odes to Our Esteemed Captain and His Most Divine Leftenant**

**Summary:** My first attempt at Sleepy Hollow fanfiction, just in time for Sleepy Holloween Week. All Ichabbie, all the time. Flashbacks, tender moments, and compromising situations, wrapped in maudlin songfic for your reading pleasure. Various and sundry situations and settings. Rated T/M.

**Disclaimer:** Nothing here belongs to me, although I'd quit my job for the opportunity to join the Sleepywriters. (Call me!)

**Rating: **T

**Just a Memory**

(Day 2: Tragedy)

Abbie Mills prided herself on taking life as it came. At twenty-eight, she had grown into a woman with deep compassion for the people around her, but very little patience for any maudlin sentiment on her own behalf. In fact, people fussing over her made her _extremely_ uncomfortable. _Really, you ought to focus on something else_, her actions always said.

Keeping a level head was how Grace Abigail Mills got through her days.

Her nights were a different story.

On a night not long after she'd returned from Purgatory, Abbie went to bed, turned off all the lights…

…and realized that the next day would mark the one year anniversary of Sheriff August Corbin's execution at the hands of the Headless Horseman.

Abbie's first reaction was to shake the sadness off. _So much has happened since that horrible night last October, _she thought to herself. _People die all the time. I'm not special, and so many have lost so much right here in Sleepy Hollow. Death is another part of life…_

_You know, you can't run away from your feelings._

She blinked. That wasn't her voice. It was Corbin's. She couldn't even count the times he'd told her exactly that…

And Corbin understood _everything._

Until she watched him die right in front of her eyes, that is. Unbidden, memories of the last glimpse she'd had of him flooded her mind… his head separated from his body.

_Stop this, Abigail. _In order to block out the trauma, she would have to try to remember Corbin as he was.

There was the time when he arrested her, deciding to intervene in Abbie's life just after she got her first real boyfriend. Closing her eyes, Abbie remembered exactly how Ralph… _Roland?... _no, Ron, _definitely_ Ron… how Ron had made her _feel_ with his pills and then with his roaming hands in the backseat of his car. Abbie would have done anything for him.

She was heading down the wrong road when Corbin arrested her, threw Ron… no, _Raymond _into jail pending trial… and forced her into the local GED program.

_You're far too smart for this mess you're getting yourself into, Abbie. Far too smart._

He'd supported her through everything. Police academy. Night school to earn her GED, then a stint at the local community college, and after all kinds of struggle and sleepless nights, her bachelor's degree. He'd been there for so many holidays that she couldn't share with her sister or mother. He'd been there through _so_ many of her bad breakups… including the latest with Luke, when he frustratingly gave her an ultimatum: Quantico and the FBI, or _him. _

And he'd been with her through the strange sequence of events that she only received answers for after she was gone.

She would never forget all the pie a la mode, and cheap diner coffee.

She would never forget his fatherly smile.

There were a few people who wondered if August Corbin ever had any inappropriate intentions toward Abigail Mills. For an older guy to take such interest in a young, pretty girl was unusual, and after all Corbin was a red-blooded guy who hadn't been seen with a woman in many years. Abbie only learned what drove him in the strange days after his death, as she rifled through his files in the office, then later at his cabin. But it was Ichabod, the occupant of Corbin's domicile who ironically never met him, to find the nearly faded picture.

"You have long wondered what may have drawn your friend to you," he'd told her over their morning coffee. "Perhaps this _photo-graph_ tells some small part of that tale."

Smiling at her friend's propensity to belabor all the words that hadn't existed during his time, Abbie had taken the picture from Ichabod, feeling the familiar warmth of his long fingers as they touched her own much smaller ones. She peered at the picture.

In it, a much-younger Corbin was with a woman. Judging from their clothing, it was probably sometime in the 1960s. She didn't look much like Abbie, but she had one thing in common with her…

They were both black.

Corbin's arms were around the mystery woman, who was looking at the camera, her laughter frozen in time for the ages by the flash. Her wide smile matched Corbin, but her old friend and mentor wasn't looking at the camera…

He was looking at _her._

Abbie knew that Corbin had been married, once. He also had a son. Abbie knew his family well. Try as she might, she couldn't remember ever seeing _that_ woman. Or remembering Corbin with a girlfriend since his wife, ever.

It was something that Ichabod had brought up later, just before the sequence of events that put him in an underground coffin and her stuck in a Purgatory dollhouse.

"You have shared with me how things changed in that regard only a few generations before this time. Perhaps Sheriff Corbin…"

Abbie shook her head. "Nah. Something must have happened. Corbin was nobody's coward. If he wanted to be with that lady, he would have been."

Ichabod raised an eyebrow. "Even if it were against the law?"

She frowned at him, then shrugged. "Those laws were unfair."

"They were indeed. And yet, had he lived in my time, the law would have been even more unreasonable."

Ichabod then mentioned the case of the _Zong_ slave ship massacre, which had been headline news just before his "death" in 1781 and long sleep through time. Abbie had seen the historical movie _Belle _with a friend a couple of years before, but the movie hadn't gone into detail about the initial circumstances that led to Lord Mansfield's case. Both filled in details that the other didn't know.

"You know what, Crane? I'm glad you came to my time… I'm not sure I would have liked yours very much."

His hand had covered hers.

"I would have protected you."

Abbie remembered opening her mouth to protest. Ichabod was a great friend but he couldn't stop many things from happening. Corbin was still _dead_… and hey, if she'd suddenly appeared in the early 1780s, anyone with nefarious intent could have claimed she was property.

But Ichabod had taken her hand in his and was holding it firmly.

"_I would have protected you," _he repeated, his voice brooking no refusal. "I will always protect you."

Instead of insisting that she didn't need anyone to protect her, Abbie smiled. Shaking her head to ward off any sentimentality, and commanding her heart to stop fluttering. It had been so long since anyone had cared for her like that… she was missing her friendship with Corbin… that was all.

She heard August's voice again. _You know, you can't run away from your feelings._

_Shut up, _she snapped inwardly.

Somehow, she could hear Corbin's warm laughter.

"You never know," Abbie said finally, taking her hand out of Ichabod's (and immediately missing his warmth). "Maybe I'll be the one to protect _you."_

Ichabod's eyes had lit up as he grinned.

"Perhaps you will, Leftenant," he'd said slowly. "Perhaps you will."

**~sleepy~sleepy~sleepy~ **

Abbie wasn't the only one who had a sleepless night on the anniversary of Sheriff August Corbin's death. A few miles away, in his old cabin, Ichabod Crane had a similar problem.

_Tomorrow marks one annum since I emerged into this strange new world, _he thought.

Only candlelight and the orange glow of the fireplace lit the large room of the cabin. Ichabod found it difficult to get used to artificial lighting, which was one of the aspects of Corbin's home he appreciated most. Here, there were moments when it didn't feel quite so much like he'd stepped into some far-distant future beyond the wildest imaginings of the most daring of the visionaries of his age.

_You and I have very different definitions of old. It seems if a building stays upright for more than a decade, you people declare it a national landmark. This cabin has all the modern means I need. It's certainly preferable to that motel._

He couldn't help his amusement over the memory. Over the past year, he and Abbie had seen their share of tragedy, from the beloved mentor she'd lost the night Headless emerged, to the imprisonment of their friend Frank Irving. He'd lost everyone he'd ever known the moment the Headless Horseman ended his life. Even Katrina was still lost to him.

So was it all a tragedy?

He knew the answer to his question almost as soon as he'd murmured it. In fact, he'd given it to Abbie many months before, back when they thought his son was a harmless old man, back when they thought the only way to prevent the Headless from rising was to end his life.

_I've lived on borrowed time. More than any man deserves. I've seen wonders beyond my wildest imaginings. And through these centuries, against the impossibilities that we would find each other, we did. And I am most grateful for it._

Coming forward in time could never be a tragedy for Ichabod Crane.

For even if the Headless Horseman's blade and his wife Katrina's spell had whisked out of his own time…

…Ichabod Crane couldn't imagine not knowing Lieutenant Abigail Mills.

**~sleepy~sleepy~sleepy~ **

Abbie knew there wouldn't be an end to her tossing and turning that night. She accepted it, though, much as she'd accepted quite a bit about her unusual life.

_One thing's for sure. Things never get boring._

Her cell phone rang. Who could it be this time of night?

When she saw the caller ID, she smiled. For some reason, ever since a lanky, snarky Revolutionary War era soldier had stepped into her life, lonely Abbie Mills found that she wasn't quite so lonely anymore.

"Hey, Crane. What's going on?"

"Nothing. I thought you might like some company."

"I'm fine." Pause. "One year."

"Indeed. It seems that the anniversary of our circumstances is upon us."

Silence.

"Would you care for some company?" he asked finally.

She'd known him long enough to hear the smile in his face.

"Miss Mills, I await your answer as we speak, for I am standing right outside your front door."

And Abbie couldn't help the soaring of her heart as she jumped out of her bed, and jogged over to let him in.

For in all the tragedy Abbie Mills had experienced in her life, the one thing that wasn't tragic... was him.

_**~the end~**_

**A/N: **So in my headcanon, Abbie _hears _Ichabod say "Leftenant" while to Ichabod, the word is "Lieutenant." So the word I'll use will depend on the POV. :)

**-Dr. Holland **


	3. Primetime

**Odes to Our Esteemed Captain and His Most Divine Leftenant**

**Summary:** My first attempt at Sleepy Hollow fanfiction, just in time for Sleepy Holloween Week. All Ichabbie, all the time. Flashbacks, tender moments, and compromising situations, wrapped in maudlin songfic for your reading pleasure. Various and sundry situations and settings. Rated T/M.

**Disclaimer:** Nothing here belongs to me, although I'd quit my job for the opportunity to join the Sleepywriters. (Call me!)

**Rating: **M

(Note: I know that some of my readers aren't here to read anything about Katrina. I get it – not a fan, either, and I'm staunchly Ichabbie. Just bear with me… there's a reason why I have her here, and a method behind this madness… trust me!)

**Primetime**

(Day 3: Romance)

This was all Jenny Mills' fault.

Abbie prided herself on being a modern, liberated woman. It wasn't as if she was some prude. Her rank in the department and her status as a detective working on the strange series of supernatural events around Sleepy Hollow allowed her to wear casual clothing. Abbie liked to wear clothes that allowed freedom of movement, but she liked her form-fitting jeans, ladies' cut t-shirts, and form-fitting jackets. Her clothes fit her like a second skin, and she didn't mind the men's eyes following her, either.

But now _Katrina _of all people was part of their little group of Witnesses and demon fighters, disrupting the easy camaraderie that they'd all shared over the past year. Katrina was as enamored with the modern world as her husband was wary of it. She embraced food, fashion, music, and popular culture.

Usually, Abbie steered clear of Katrina Crane… at least, as clear as she could of her partner's wife. Katrina had taken up residence with Ichabod in the little cabin, and she couldn't help but feel annoyed by that.

_Wish they'd both get jobs somewhere, find a house where they actually pay the bills, and move out, _thought Abbie, ignoring the fact that she didn't mind it at all during the year that Ichabod lived there alone. Back then, it was still her mentor's home, a sanctuary from the apocalypse that threatened them all.

At least it wasn't the Cranes' love nest before Katrina returned.

Although Abbie wasn't a fan of Katrina, Jenny was. (Of _course._) If they weren't fighting all of hell itself these days, she would've _killed_ her little sister for introducing Katrina to pop music, especially some of Abbie's workout faves.

A few days before the New Year, Abbie came by the cabin to discuss strategy for defeating a particularly nasty siren that was killing young men who ventured too close to Sleepy Hollow's creeks and streams. When she entered, she found Jenny and Katrina having a friendly dispute over a familiar Beyoncé video on the screen of a newly purchased television.

"What are you two going on about?" asked Abbie, after she muted the strains of "Freakum Dress."

"New Year's Eve," laughed Jenny, looking more animated than Abbie could remember. "Irving's scored tickets to this _incredible_ party in New York, so we're all going. Katrina and I are going dress shopping, and I had to show her this video."

"But you hate Beyoncé," Abbie pointed out. "You're more of a Radiohead girl."

"Well, maybe I've grown up a bit since then," Jenny snarked back. "Katrina wants to spice things up. Seems Ichabod's been too stressed to… ah…"

Abbie raised an eyebrow. _This _was an interesting development.

Katrina reddened. "I assure you, Miss Mills, Ichabod is not impotent! It's just that many unfortunate events surrounding my appearance in this time have yet to be resolved…"

"So my sister's suggesting that you put your freakum dress on," Abbie finished dryly.

Jenny winked and sang, "Every woman's got one!"

"Not true," Abbie deadpanned. "I don't. And I doubt that Katrina, as much as she's loved our time at American Apparel and Urban Outfitters, is looking to wear what in her time would've been like going out in a corset."

"It's quite all right," Katrina assured. "I am quite eager to do whatever it takes to help Ichabod better fulfill his mission."

_Of course you are, lady. That included staying with your headless ex-fiance for months, didn't it? _Abbie thought.

"I see from the look on her face that Lieutenant Grace Abigail Mills disapproves," Jenny smirked. "You'd better be nice, sis, or we'll make sure that your dress is the _tiniest_ and the _tightest_."

"I'd like to see you try to force me into it," Abbie said. "A sensible top and a pair of jeans are what I'll be wearing out, thanks."

**~sleepy~sleepy~sleepy~ **

Because they were late, she'd actually allowed Ichabod to drive. And that was the _least _of Abbie Mills' concerns as darkness fell that fateful New Year's Eve.

She was the only one in a bad mood. Part of it had been because Katrina had refused to take the front passenger seat, insisting that Abbie ride up front with Ichabod.

"I believe you call it… _shotgun?" _Katrina said triumphantly.

"Yes," Abbie said, forcing a smile. But when Ichabod _also _smiled at his wife, Abbie had to tamp down the urge to put the other woman's eyes out.

_Mills, you're being unreasonable, _sensible Abbie told herself as Jenny and Katrina sang along to the radio, traded stories, and played truth or dare as if they were teenagers instead of key players in a supernatural war. Meanwhile, Ichabod drove and kept his thoughts to himself…

…while Abbie kept trying to remind herself that the festive gold sequined dress that Jenny and Katrina had forced her into really _wasn't _giving her a wedgie. Her hair was natural tonight. Usually Abbie straightened it for work, but she loved the fullness of the curls piled atop her head. But it was freezing cold, so her new 'do was covered with a scarf.

And the damn dress the women forced down her throat… well, actually around her petite curves… was completely covered by a giant, knee-length North Face winter coat. But when they reached their destination, the coat would have to go…

…and Abbie would be practically _naked. _On display for every eye in the place to ogle.

Too bad that the one pair of eyes she secretly _wouldn't _mind ogling her was _very_ married to the annoying creature who'd suddenly become BFFs with her baby sister.

_Not about this life, _thought Abbie.

"Your turn, Ichabod. Truth or dare?" Jenny was asking.

"Truth," came his reply. "For I know better than to trust you with a dare, Jennifer Mills."

Abbie couldn't help smirking at that.

"So what is your truth, Ichy?" Jenny teased, knowing he hated the nickname.

"My truth is… that Katrina and I share a particular… _taste_ in common."

He looked into the rearview mirror, and Abbie watched as their eyes met.

_Gag me now, _she thought. _Why did I ever agree to go out with these idiots, when there are a half dozen men back in Sleepy Hollow who would've agreed to show me a good time? _

_And now I have to watch my partner who I refuse to catch feelings for make eyes at his lost-and-found magenta haired American Apparel wearing wife._

_Didn't sign up for this shit._

"Abbie," Ichabod was saying, which snapped her out of it.

"Hm?"

"Truth or dare?"

"Truth. The truth is that everyone in this damned SUV is getting on my last nerve, and seeing as this is _my _vehicle and I'm an officer of the law, this stupid game ends right now."

Silence.

"See, that's your problem, Abbie!" Jenny exclaimed. "No sense of humor. _Damn._"

"You think I haven't got a sense of humor?" Just then, Abbie was ready to get out of her car. "Watch this."

She reached over to switch on the sirens.

"Hold on to your powdered wigs, girls," said Ichabod, a wicked twinkle in his eye.

And they soared down the highway.

**~sleepy~sleepy~sleepy~ **

They had great tickets at one of the hottest clubs in New York City, inside an exclusive hotel. Ichabod tossed the keys to the valet, and parted the crowd for Abbie, Jenny, and Katrina as they headed to the VIP section. There, they met Frank Irving, and a good friend of his who lived in New York, a woman he introduced as Yolanda.

The second Ichabod opened her mouth, Yolanda turned into a puddle.

"Is it you?" she asked, batting her eyelashes. "It _is _you! I'm Yolanda from NorthStar, Mr. Crane!"

Ichabod raised Yolanda's hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to it. "It is my honor to make your acquaintance in the flesh, Miss Yolanda."

Abbie could take no more. For some reason, ever since Katrina's return, all the women who regularly tossed their panties in her partner's direction were like splinters in her side.

Tonight? She felt rubbed completely raw.

There was a special coat check for the VIPs, and she was glad to get rid of her voluminous coat and scarf, turning away from the booth, and the _irritating Cranes._

A whistle sounded in her ear. _God, _she wasn't in the mood. Whirling around, she came face to face with her younger sister.

"Is your period on the way or something?" Jenny asked. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"If you don't know, Jen? I don't know what to tell you," Abbie said.

Inexplicably, Jenny shook her head.

"Oh, I know what's wrong with you. You're jealous."

"Jealous? Of who?"

"Of any woman who comes within an inch of tall, handsome, and British. Also known as Ichabod Crane." She pulled Abbie aside. "There's no need to be jealous, you know. He and Katrina have an… _understanding."_

"Look, what you are saying is crazy," Abbie snapped. "And, even if it weren't, I don't share."

"You wouldn't be sharing Ichabod. Not with Katrina." Jenny's voice lowered to a whisper. "I have it on good authority that they aren't sleeping together. In fact, they haven't been together since they arrived in the modern world."

"They've been in that cabin for _months."_

"As roommates. Nothing more."

Abbie clucked her tongue. "Unless death and Purgatory really _did _kill their libido, Jenny, I doubt that very seriously."

"Trust me on this one." She squeezed her older sister's shoulder. "And while you're at it, drag your lanky sidekick out there on the dance floor. You just might be surprised."

Abbie wasn't all that surprised. Besides Katrina and Jenny's hijinks, she now had to contend with a smitten Yolanda slobbering all over her partner. She was angry with herself for _catching feelings for the most basic guy in the universe… he isn't even that cute!_

_It must be all the Outlander episodes I've been marathoning lately, _Abbie thought wryly. _Has me going a bit insane, looking for some grand time travel romance. What kind of fool am I? My name is not Claire!_

The waiter circled back around, taking all their orders.

"Something else for you, miss?"

"Another Long Island," said Abbie. "And keep 'em coming."

When the waiter left, Yolanda, Katrina, and Jenny went to the ladies' room. Ichabod caught Abbie's eye.

"Miss Mills, I must compliment you on your choice of attire. You look…"

Words seemed to fail him for the first time that night, which tipped Abbie's annoyance over into anger.

"You know what, Crane? Go fuck yourself."

With that, she stood up, left the VIP section, and made her way to the middle of the dance floor. Within a moment, an anonymous man came to dance with her to the strong beat of the music. He was handsome, almost as tall as her partner…

_But his eyes were green, not sky blue…_

Abbie was done with dancing, and with the party. She wasn't sure if she wanted to sleep, to curl herself up and cry, or to punch everyone in the face.

Maybe she'd do all three.

But first, she was going to find the ladies' room to reapply her lipstick.

The first two bathrooms that she checked had extremely long lines. Giggly, chatty, _flighty _ass women filled with too much champagne? No, thank you. Abbie would pass.

After asking a couple of the staff about a quicker place to tinkle and powder her nose, she was directed to what looked like a boardroom for the establishment that had its own en suite bathroom according to the harried waiter who pointed out the directions. Abbie thanked him and pushed the suite's door open.

There were no lights in the boardroom, but there were some lights on in what she assumed was the ensuite powder room…

…and there were also distinctive _sounds. _

Abbie almost backed out of the way, until she heard a _very _familiar giggle, then heavy breathing, and a feminine _moan._

"Ah! Merciful heavens, that feels good! _Ahhhh!"_

_Of course. Jenny is blind. Understanding my ass… Katrina's understanding is that she's marking her territory. Reminding Ichabod that it's all about _her, _not Yolanda, or Jenny…_

_Or me._

Lost in her thoughts, Abbie quietly made her way out of the boardroom, and back into the empty back corridor…

…and almost ran straight into Ichabod…

…whose arms immediately closed around hers.

"Whoops, sorry, Crane… I…"

Before she could stammer out an appropriate excuse, or to figure out _how _there were two Ichabods (because _not again!), _his mouth claimed hers in a hot, sweet kiss. Abbie's entire body responded from head to toe. It was the first time they'd kissed, and oh, what a kiss it was.

Abbie pulled back reluctantly.

"You really are Ichabod." She glanced back at the boardroom door, then reached underneath the tight sequins for the gun holstered on her thigh…

"One moment, Abbie." His voice was a deep rumble that made her nipples tighten against the straining fabric of the bodice of her dress, and moisture fall on her hand…

…and his. For he'd covered his hand with hers to stop her from drawing her gun.

_Okay, after all the times the ground has done funny things over the past few years, today would be the day it decides not to open up and swallow me whole. Because my partner, fellow Witness, best friend, and secret crush just felt the clear evidence of my arousal less than two minutes after our first kiss…_

_Way to go, Abigail. This is what comes of giving up casual sex to "find yourself." It's made you desperate._

_Not to mention horny as hell._

Turning back to the matter at hand, she whispered, "There's another Ichabod here, or else you're standing here with me while you're having sex with your wife."

Ichabod looked slightly embarrassed, but _mostly _amused.

"My wife is indeed having sex. Most fortunately for both of us, it is _not _with me."

Now that was a surprise. "Do you know who she's with?"

"I do indeed. And before you ask me to share, Leftenant, please know that I have been sworn to secrecy."

Abbie let out a puff of air. "So Jenny was right. You and Katrina are married in name only."

"At least until we figure out the means of divorcement in this world. Remember the binding enchantment that Katrina's coven cast during our ceremony…"

"Restrains Henry from doing his worst," Abbie finished. Of _course _she'd known that. It was why once Katrina left Abraham, they'd arranged for Ichabod to live with her in the first place.

"Yes. But in our hearts, Abbie, we have parted as friends. We have since reconciled ourselves to our new circumstances. Katrina and I merely share lodgings."

"So you're free."

"Not since the day I first laid eyes on one Grace Abigail Mills."

He tilted her chin up.

Abbie smiled softly at him. "We have a lot to talk about, Ichabod."

"We shall talk at the start of the New Year. For now, there is the matter of this… what did Jenny and Katrina call these infernal contraptions?... _freak-um _dress you have got on."

Perfect little teeth tugged at her bottom lip. "You like it?"

"Indeed I do. But I must confess that I would like it _far _better on the floor of your chambers… a matter we shall have occasion to discuss soon."

His lips pressed against her ear.

"You make me lose all sense of propriety, madam. All I have thought on for _months _is doing this."

Moving his hand away from hers, his fingers trailed up her silken bare thigh, over her mound to the landing strip that led to the part of her she wanted him most.

"Do it," Abbie hissed. "_Please."_

"Despite your choice in attire, my Abigail, I will not besiege you in a back hallway like a whore in a brothel." His fingertips moved the barely there strip of fabric of her thong aside and found her aching clit. "My ardor for you has built since not long after our first meeting. Upon encouragement from Katrina and Miss Jenny, I have secured more appropriate quarters for us."

Abbie could no longer speak. All she could do was cling to Ichabod with all her might as two of his fingers slid easily inside her cunt, while his thumb continued to tease her clit.

"We captured that Siren yesterday," he murmured against her ear. "But I must confess that I have long since fallen under the spell of a much more elusive siren altogether…"

His fingers moved in and out of her deftly, as if they had all the time in the world. Abbie thought she'd die of the pleasure. She'd _never_ felt this good with her previous lovers from just a couple of fingers.

"And I am lost, my sweet Abbie… utterly and completely _lost_…"

A few strokes more, and Abbie came, in a public hallway, her body concealed against the wall by Ichabod's much larger one.

"Ichabod, I…"

But she was mesmerized by his fingers, tracing her lips, then pushing gently inside her mouth. Imploring her to taste her own passion.

"With your leave, we shall not return to Sleepy Hollow this night. I wish to spend the next while worshipping at your altar, my Abbie."

"So not only do I get hot sex," she whispered, licking her lips, "I get pretty words, too. Nice."

"In my time, 'making love' referred to more than the act," he explained. "It referred to the entire courtship."

"Well, we've gone from courtship to 100 in like five minutes," Abbie grinned. "Not that I'm complaining, mind you…"

He cut off her words with another kiss.

"I swear that I shall court you in every way known to man and woman," he promised her. "A woman with your charms deserves romance. But first... I fear that I have a pressing need to be inside you, Miss Mills."

Public place be damned. Abbie was nearly ready for him to take her right there in the hallway. She really didn't care who was watching. _Hell, maybe we should charge admission._

"Get me out of here, Crane," she implored. "So I can take care of _everything _you need."

As the revelers counted down around them, and Ichabod led her through the crowd to their waiting love nest, Abbie knew she was ready for primetime.

_**~the end~**_

**A/N: **There's just one thing I want to know: who _was _rocking Katrina's world back there? If you want to hazard a guess, let me know in the reviews… all I know and care about is that Abbie's world is about to get rocked!

**~Dr. Holland **


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